Born to Live, Live to Die?
by Miss-J'x
Summary: Clove wasn't ready to be reaped. It wasn't supposed to be her year. How will she survive, when the boy from her district is the one who wants her to die? Or does he?
1. The Beginning of the End?

She heard her name, but it took a few seconds before she realised that they had called her. Suddenly the stage seemed miles away, and she knew that this could very well be the last time she was in her own district. She'd been trained since the age of five to fight in the games, and had been encouraged to volunteer this year, but she had been reaped instead. Something of an honour, apparently. She wanted to wait though. Next year would have been her year. But that was too bad. No one volunteered to take her place. Not one person. At least she had a chance of winning, she was what they call a 'career', but it depended who else was chosen. And besides, nothing in the games was ever certain.

"Get it together!" She felt her hands shaking slightly as she mounted the steps, guided along by her districts Capitol representative; Ursula Peacock, who dressed like the bird who shared her name. Ridiculous, really. But what else could be expected from the Capitol residents?

Now that they were calling the boys she had a chance to look around, and found herself standing taller, straighter, and maintaining eye contact with the crowd, but no one seemed to look at her. Why? She wasn't sure. Then she saw him walking towards the stage. She hadn't been paying attention, and had missed the huge boy lunging forward to volunteer. She felt a stab of fear as she recognised the boy. The boy with the sword he was called. She had seen him at training; he was a year older than her and amazing with a sword, not to mention his fighting skills. She was as good as dead. Yet, she smirked at him when they shook hands as though he should be the one who was worried.

They were ushered back into the justice centre, where they said goodbye to their families. Her family acted as though they would never see her again, and she thanked them very much for their support before asking them to leave before their time was even up. And because she didn't have any real friends, she spent the rest of the hour sitting alone, while her fellow district tribute probably had a whole procession of people wishing him good luck, promising to see him again, telling him how to kill her.


	2. Simplicity at its Finest

The train was something she had never seen before; so lavish and expensive. She wasn't even from a poor district, and yet she was amazed by everything. She took a seat by the window, in a plush purple armchair, running her fingers over the soft fabric to sooth her nerves. She was so consumed by her own thoughts that she didn't even notice that the chair next to her was suddenly occupied until he spoke.

"Clove, right?"

Simple enough. Yes, she could handle simple conversation.

She answered without looking at him, "Yes," Clove turned her head to find herself looking into the baby blue eyes of one of the most vicious people she had ever seen, "Cato?"

"Bingo," he smirked as he put his feet up on the coffee table.

She nodded tersely before returning her gaze to the passing landscape out the window. Now wasn't the time to be making friends. Especially not with someone who probably already wanted her dead.

"I've seen you with your knives, you're good," Cato spoke out suddenly, he rarely gave out compliments, so she knew he must have meant it.

She forced a smile on to her face, a welcome change from the glare she had perfected especially for the games, but that turned into a smirk, "Thank you. You're not bad with a sword either."

"I'm pretty sure I'm better than 'not bad', but I guess that'll do."

Typical Cato, arrogant and cocky. Clove couldn't really talk though. She was confident, overly so, she was from District 2 after all. Obviously district two wasn't going to be remembered for their modest, humble tributes.


	3. The Dull Blade of a Butter Knife

Dinner was as elaborate as she had expected, she and Cato listened to their mentors advice, it seemed Cato was more interested in what they were saying though, but that seemed to suit them fine. They'd pretty much already decided that if district two was to have a victor, then it was going to be Cato. He was strong, he was lethal, and he had volunteered. Brutus and Enobaria had seen him in training, in fact Brutus had even trained him some with his sword throwing. They knew what he could do, they knew that he had potential to win this thing. All they knew about Clove was that she was a weak, too small sixteen year old with a bad attitude. She'd probably be the first district two tribute ever to die in the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Or so they thought. And she wasn't prepared to let them see otherwise. If they didn't want to give her a chance, then that was their issue. She was perfectly content with letting them think whatever they wanted about her. She just needed to get her hand on a knife to prove them wrong, and she toyed with the idea of throwing her butter knife at Enobaria's smug face.

As though she'd read Clove's mind, Enobaria turned to face her, "And what is it you can do, sweetheart?" The tone was mocking, which infuriated Clove, but she did her best not to show it, and simply shrugged in response.

It was Cato who spoke for her, "She can throw knives, she never misses, and she's pretty strong." Yes, they were true, but he'd left out her sword skills, her bow and arrow skills, and her general intelligence which could mean life or death in the arena. It was all well and good to be tough, but the smart tributes were often more dangerous. She was tough and smart. She could win.

Enobaria raised one perfect brow at Cato's words. Never before had she seen a tribute complimenting another tribute, even one from their own district. It was unheard of. "Well, can you show me?"

Clove rolled her eyes at her plate, but launched the butter knife across the room without bothering to look up. From the gasps that came from Enobaria, and Brutus, she knew it had hit the mark. And it had. It was wedged between two panels on the wall behind Enobaria.

Enobaria smiled, "Well, well, we may just have something to work with. Now, I suppose we should go and watch the reaping, and work out your alliance."

They all crowded into the living area to watch as all the tributes stepped forward; some lunging forward to volunteer, others obviously terrified. They watched right through from District One to District Twelve without a word, both thinking hard about their competitors. Eventually, everyone excused themselves leaving Clove and Cato sitting alone to discuss their plans.

Cato was pointing out which tributes they should ask to join their alliance.

"One, obviously. Maybe eleven."

Clove shook her head, "Not that girl from one, she looks weak." She was right, the girl from one did look weak, but she also knew that she may be a vicious fighter, and that size really didn't matter. But something about her didn't sit well with Clove.

"She's not the only one..." Cato raised an eyebrow at Clove, and smirked, he was well aware that she could hold her own, but he knew she hated being called weak because of her size.

It took Clove a few seconds to realise what he had said, but as soon as it sunk in, she flung herself at Cato, pinning him on the couch underneath her. She had moved so fast, he hadn't had time to react.

"You were saying?" Clove pinned each of his hands under her knees and smirked down at him.

Cato let her think she had won just long enough, before rolling her over so that she was pinned underneath him.

"Dead," Cato suddenly declared, after holding her down for ten seconds, the way they practised in training and let her up.

Clove shoved him off, and stormed off to her room. She wasn't used to being beat, she was the strongest in her group at training. She was used to winning.


	4. Pint Sized Progress

Clove wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, that she was sure of, so she decided to explore. She quietly slipped from her bedroom, and went out to the balcony that attached to the living area of the second floor. It was cold out, and she cursed herself for not grabbing a jacket, a blanket... anything. All she could see were lights and all she could hear was chanting. The Capitol was full of lights and noise even though it was very very late.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She about jumped out of her skin as she felt someone come up behind her.

"Nah."

Cato appeared beside her, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me, idiot," Clove scoffed as though her being scared was absolutely ludicrous, but quietly hoped he hadn't seen just how high she had jumped.

Cato smirked, "Uh-huh."

So he had. Damn.

Cato watched her from the corner of his eye, she was shivering but obviously trying to hide it. He had to smile at her demeanor. She tried so, so hard to appear strong, powerful, cruel. Yet, he was sure that there was more to her. Maybe even a soft side. He hoped he'd get a chance to see it before he had to kill her.

"Cold?"

Clove shook her head, "Nah."

"Here," he slipped his jacket off and placed it over her shoulders.

She shoved the jacket back in his arms, "I said I wasn't cold, moron. Are you deaf or something?"

"Chill, would you? There's a few days until you can try and kill me in the arena, but how about until then, we try and be friends?" Cato smiled at her, finding her refusal to let him close almost amusing.

Clove sighed, "Fine, friends. Happy?"

Cato nodded, "And friends let friends borrow jackets when they're cold. So, here." He placed the jacket around her shoulders again, and was surprised when she didn't call him a name, or slap him, or give it back. Progress, however small, was still progress.

"Thanks."


End file.
